


I Want a Coat For Valentines

by Owaya1



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cold Feet, Fluff, M/M, old buildings, you see where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owaya1/pseuds/Owaya1
Summary: “What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks, flatly, because this cannot be good.“Nothing,” Oikawa squeaks, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then around their small kitchen-slash-hall.“Oh it’s something,” Iwaizumi says, and rubs his arms, “why is it so damn cold in here?”





	I Want a Coat For Valentines

**Author's Note:**

> My unplanned contribution the February 2018 writing challenge.  
> 07/02 2018, — 'Time Together'  
> Inspired by the cold ass weather and fueled by procastination.

     

 

 

 

        The cold February air stings Iwaizumi’s eyes as he hurries down the street towards home. He has his hands stuffed into this pockets and his scarf wrapped up over his nose and around his ears, but it hardly makes up for his lack of a winter coat.

       The sun is setting behind him, soft, red and hazy on the distant horizon, the light catching on the soft fall of snow, drifting down from the sky.

       Iwaizumi abandons his pride and breaks into a run as he rounds the last corner, — the prospect of a warm bath and a hot cup of coffee calling him home like a siren.

       ‘Oh to be _warm,’_ he thinks, and tries not to feel bitter about Oikawa losing both their coats in a locker room two prefectures away.

       The soulless, concrete building Iwaizumi lives in looms several stories high, its windows all disturbingly dark despite the hour. Someone has left an old, threadbare shoe in the doorway, keeping the building’s main door cracked open for anyone to wander in. A bright pink sticky-note informs him to _KEEP THE DOOR OPEN!!!!_

       The amount of exclamation points persuades Iwaizumi not to cross whoever put it there.

       He runs up the two flights of stairs it takes to reach his floor, hoping the exercise will warm him up, but sadly, being a professional athlete means two flights of stairs barely gets his pulse up.  He always knew there had to be downsides to being fit.

       “ _Iwa-chan_!” Oikawa wrenches open the door just as Iwaizumi is about to turn the knob. “ _You’re home!”_

       “Why are you whispering?” Iwaizumi asks warily, eying his boyfriend. Oikawa is wearing two scarves, four sweaters and what looks suspiciously like eight pairs of socks. Iwaizumi tires not panic over what this might mean.

       “I didn’t think you’d be home so soon!” Oikawa grabs Iwaizumi’s arm and pulls him inside their apartment, then sticks his head out and peeks up and down the hallway before shoving the door shut and bolting it.

       “What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks, flatly, because this cannot be good.

       “Nothing,” Oikawa squeaks, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then around their small kitchen-slash-hall.

       “Oh it’s _something_ ,” Iwaizumi says, and rubs his arms, “why is it so damn cold in here?”

       Oikawa doesn’t meet his eyes.

       “No,” Iwaizumi looks around frantically, but there are no lights turned on anywhere despite how dark it’s getting. “Please no.”

       “It wasn’t my fault Iwa-chan,” the pitch of Oikawa’s voice gives away his lie.

       “Uhuh.” Iwaizumi rounds on him.

       “How was I supposed to know I couldn’t plug in two space heaters while the microwave was on,” Oikawa is wearing Iwaizumi’s favourite sweatshirt beneath the bundle of sweaters, “I’m pretty sure the main fuse isn’t supposed to blow from that.”

       “Did you call the super?” Iwaizumi asks faintly, already dreading the answer.

       “He’s having a _baby,_ Iwa-chan,” Oikawa throws up his arms, “and he was pretty rude about it too.”

       Iwaizumi turns around and leans his forehead against the door, defeated. “You yelled at him didn’t you?”

       “He was being _rude_ Iwa-chan.”

       Iwaizumi wonders if knocking his head against the wall would be overly dramatic. “Shittykawa,” he manages weakly.

       “You’re such a drama queen,” Oikawa says, pulling on Iwaizumi’s arm. The irony of his words seems to be escaping him but Iwaizumi is too cold to point this out at the moment. “Don’t you fret Iwa-chan, your amazing boyfriend has it all figured out.”

       “You’re hiding from our neighbours, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi points out.

       “No _,_ I’m hiding from _one_ neighbour, because if he sees me he’ll _know_ it was me _._ ”

       “Your fear of Akaashi is amazing.”

       “I’m not afraid,” Oikawa squeaks, “I’m appropriately cautious.”

       The sudden knock on the door makes them both jump, and they both stare at the door for a beat too long.

       “Pizza delivery,” a guy shouts through the door, impatient, and knocks again, louder this time.

       “Oh right,” Oikawa unlocks the door and hurriedly pays the delivery man in exchange for two large boxes of pizza.

       “Your buzzer isn’t working,” the guy remarks with a certain amount of judgement.

       “We know,” Iwaizumi says and then shuts the door before Oikawa says something that makes them unable to order pizza from that particular place again without the fear of stay saliva.

       Oikawa hefts the boxes and pulls Iwaizumi into the living-slash-bedroom. A dozen blankets and pillows lie piled on the bed, illuminated by a motley collection of candles lining the headboard, the windowsills and the small table in the corner. Their entire shared manga collection has been stacked in easy reach from the bed, sorted ambiguously by genre.

       “I told you I had it all figured out.” Oikawa says and peers into one of the pizza boxes. The smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce fills the room.

       Iwaizumi smiles helplessly and goes to dig out some more socks for himself.

       “Oikawa,” Iwaizumi murmurs later, his feet tucked under Oikawa’s shins, and eight blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

       “Hmm?” Oikawa hums, his chin digging into Iwaizumi’s collarbone as he angles an old shoujo manga precariously to catch the light of a nearby volleyball-shaped candle.

       “I want a new coat for Valentines, don’t you dare buy me milkbread.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
